


Reverie

by firenzia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is just impossibly soft for his angel, Crowley obviously likes to spoil Aziraphale, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Impossibly tender Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Married Couple, NSFW Art, Porn with Feelings, Sensory Deprivation, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sleepy Sex, Smut, Softness, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenzia/pseuds/firenzia
Summary: Aziraphale has never had an erotic dream before, so when he wakes unexpectedly in the night for the first time it is quite a shock.Crowley is fascinated, and offers to make it a reality.[Includes NSFW illustration]
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 114
Kudos: 1205
Collections: Gomens Favs, ineffably horny





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> This is a PWP one-shot companion to my main series, [Love, and Other Ineffable Things](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606)
> 
> For those following chronologically, this takes place a few weeks after their wedding, before their move to the Downs.

* * *

_  
He lay in bed, in the hazy darkness of their room, and all was softness and pleasure and heat, and the press of Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale floated, gasping, as the waves of bliss washed over his body. His husband looked down at him, eyes burning like coals, wreathed in golden flames as he bent and kissed him. Aziraphale kissed him back, and reached up to touch his face. So beautiful. He let his wings burst free, and Crowley’s hand tightened around his_ -

There was a yelp of surprise and a loud _THUMP_.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. The lovely image popped like a warm bubble, and reality smacked him in the face as abruptly as a splash of water. He was in their bed, all right, but the similarities ended there. He was lying on his back, groin aching, with his wings fully outstretched beneath him. His favourite silk nightshirt was torn completely open, ripped apart by the force of the unfurling wings. It was dark, and the moonlight filtering in through the bedroom window had cast the world in shades of silver and black. Crowley was no longer next to him. From the confused thrashing and swearing he could hear on the other side of the room, it seemed that the demon had just been forcibly flung off the bed.

“Crowley?” he called out.

A pause. “Angel?” came the bleary exclamation from the floor. “What the hell happened?” More thrashing sounds.

Aziraphale pulled off the sad remains of his shirt and rolled over to peek over the side of the bed. As his eyes adjusted he could just make out Crowley lying there, completely tangled up in the blanket and trying to free himself. He was still half asleep though, and rather than unwinding it he was simply yanking at it in a panic.

“Oh, I’m- I’m so sorry darling! Are you alright?”

“M’okay, just-”

Crowley finally ripped off the blanket with a jerk, and sat there panting for a minute. He finally looked up at him. “You did that?” Aziraphale remembered his wings, and sheepishly re-furled and vanished them away. He reached out a hand, and the demon took it and hauled himself back up onto the bed. He slumped against the headboard and groaned, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What was that about?”

“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” He wrung his hands anxiously, dodging the question.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just scared the shit out of me is all.” Crowley put his arms around him and kissed his cheek, and now his voice sounded worried. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare? That would be a first.”

“Oh...no, not at all, don’t worry about me.”

Now that the shock had faded, embarrassment was flooding in to replace it. “It was just a dream.” He surreptitiously pulled a corner of the sheet over his lap, hoping to hide the extremely prominent evidence of the type of dream it had been. Crowley’s ability to see clearly in the dark could be very inconvenient at moments like this. Not that there ever had been a moment _quite_ like this.

He rarely dreamed at all, and when he did it was just vague shifting images and emotions. But this had been...something else entirely, something new, and slightly unsettling. He hadn’t known that dreams _could_ be like that, so- so realistic, and he had no idea what to make of it. It had hit him with such sharp, lucid clarity, and inspired such a visceral reaction, that he was struggling to believe that it hadn’t actually happened. His mind was still sleepy and fuddled, the moonlight casting everything in a surreal palette and adding to his confusion. 

He was also still so aroused that it was making it hard to think, and it wasn’t helping that Crowley had gone to bed in only his boxer briefs. His lean, bare chest pressing against him was extremely distracting.

Crowley was still leaning in close, oblivious, all kisses and tender concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’ve never seen you lose control of them like that. Well, other than…” he stopped. He looked down, and without warning tugged the sheet away; Aziraphale grabbed blindly for it but missed.

There was a very significant pause, during which he could practically hear the amusement spread over his husband’s face. “Reeeeeaaalllllly,” Crowley drawled, drawing the word out to a ridiculous length. He was grinning ear to ear now, teeth a faint white crescent in the dark. “Well, that’s _very_ interesting. What exactly was happening in this dream of yours? Can I get details?” He sounded practically gleeful, and it mortified Aziraphale to the core.

“Oh, just- oh, be quiet!” He covered his face with his hands, not even sure why he was so embarrassed. The shock and…incomplete nature of things had him entirely out of sorts.

Crowley just squeezed him closer. “It must have been pretty realistic, to get you to react like that, hm?” He kissed the part of his cheek not covered by his hand. “Was I featured in this dream, or do I have some competition that I need to strangle?”

“Oh for heavens sake. Of course it was you!” He groped for a pillow and buried his face in it, cheeks burning so hot that he was surprised they weren’t glowing. “I have no idea what happened,” he groaned wretchedly. “That’s _never_ happened before.”

Crowley relented and let go of him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” It sounded like he was still grinning, at least. “You’re just so cute when you’re flustered.”

Aziraphale just groaned again, face still buried in the pillow.

“Ahh, come here.” Crowley pulled the pillow away and tugged him over to sit between his legs. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and kissed the back of his neck. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s not a big deal. It happens to humans all the time. And it’s happened to me, too.”

Now, _that_ was unexpected. He twisted to look at him. “It has? You’ve never said anything.” It did make him feel a lot better about it. The embarrassment slowly drained away, and he sighed and relaxed, enjoying the way they fit perfectly together. Comfortably ensconced between Crowley’s legs, his warm body at his back and his lanky arms wrapped around him…perfection. The room was slightly cool without his nightshirt, but Crowley radiated more than enough heat to compensate. He always felt like he was running a fever, due to the tiny spark of Hellfire that all demons carried inside. It made for a very toasty husband. Aziraphale relaxed a little more and snuggled a little closer to him. He could sleep just like this if not for the persistent problem between his own legs.

”It only happened recently. Well, fairly recently anyway, just before the wedding. It was intense, to say the least. I guess it means that we’re really embracing the whole human experience, eh?” Crowley kissed his hair, letting his lips linger, then started slowly kissing down the back of his neck. His voice turned sly. “It’s got to be frustrating to be so rudely interrupted. Even if you were the one who did the interrupting.”

Those kisses were stoking the embers of his arousal again, flaring and burning hotter, even while the warm dark lulled him. Their bed was so soft and exceedingly cosy (he had miracled it to be, after all), and that comfortable, drowsy state was creeping back in again. Aziraphale yawned and pressed a little further into those inviting arms, closing his eyes. He was tingling pleasantly, and so very sleepy…but not sleepy enough to ignore it.

“Yes... it was. It was just so unexpected. I didn’t know dreams could be so, er–” he yawned again, hugely, “-graphic.” He turned his head to kiss Crowley’s cheek, and his breath caught. Oh... but he smelled so good. Human bodies had such a- a vitality to them, unlike anything to be found in Heaven, and no one more so than Crowley. That distinct musky scent always went straight to the primal centre of his brain and set his head spinning. Before, in the old days, it had simply made him uncomfortable. Now it woke in him an almost wild longing, and the effect only seemed to be intensifying as the months went by. He liked it. It made him feel bold and reckless and utterly free.

“Graphic, hm? I have an idea.” Crowley’s fingertips rubbed little circles on his bare chest. “Why don’t you tell me about your dream, and I’ll see if I can do it justice?”

“Oh, ah…” His brain immediately short-circuited as all the blood in his body rushed south to cast its vote on _that_ idea. He swallowed. “I really don’t think you’d find it very exciting.” His heart started to beat faster, regardless.

Warm lips pressed against his neck again, shifting gently. “Would I get to touch you?” Crowley asked quietly.

The last traces of coherent thought fled as Aziraphale’s pulse started hammering in his ears, and he could only manage a nod.

“Then I think you might be surprised at what I find exciting.” Crowley’s hands were wandering now, sliding over his waist and plucking at his pyjama bottoms. He pulled the waistband open slightly and peered underneath, and chuckled. “Look at you, you’ll never be able to sleep with that.” He licked behind his ear, then blew gently, raising prickling goosebumps all down his arms. “Let me fix it for you,” Crowley whispered. He licked again, slower, and this time the chills rippled down his spine to concentrate between his legs. Aziraphale groaned as the dream lurched back to the forefront of his mind, beckoning. It had been so very _vivid_...

He did want to return to it. He wanted that very, very badly.

“Go on, tell me,” Crowley murmured in his ear. “Tell me what was happening.” He drew his earlobe into his mouth and sucked gently, then whispered, “Let me do this for you. Let me take care of you, my angel.”

 _My_ angel _._ He had taken to calling him that ever since their wedding, and the small but significant difference sent a thrill through him each time.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, remembering, and lay his head back to rest on Crowley’s shoulder. He exhaled a long breath, and said, “I was lying on my back.”

“Hm. Let’s get these off first.” Careful hands pushed the pyjama bottoms down, working them off his hips and freeing his erection. He tossed them away. “There we go, much better.” Crowley wrapped his fever-hot arms around him again and slowly, slowly turned and lowered him back, leaning with him, nose to nose. He laid him gently down lengthwise across the bed, and Aziraphale sighed as he sank into the soft mattress. The sheets were silky and warm against his naked skin. Crowley stretched out alongside and leaned over him, intent, just a dark silhouette against the lesser darkness of the night. Flecks of silver moonlight caught in his hair and glinted along the lines of his bare shoulders, shifting as he moved. “And?” he said quietly. “What was I doing to you?” He brushed two fingertips down his face, gently pressing his eyelids closed.

Aziraphale kept them closed, and felt his cheeks grow hot as he whispered, “You had your hand in my hair...and you had my head pulled back.”

Long, rough fingers slid over his scalp, sending a shiver down his spine. They massaged lightly for a heartbeat before slowly closing to grip his hair. They tugged, firm but gentle, always gentle, and tilted his head all the way backwards, until his chin was pointed almost to the ceiling. Warm lips touched his upturned throat, feather-soft, sending an electric tingle through him. “Like this?” Crowley asked, equally softly.

“Mmhmm.” He swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple shift under those lips. He felt exposed and vulnerable in the dark, and in that moment Crowley’s mouth on his skin was the most erotic thing he had ever felt.

Crowley pressed a slow kiss under his jaw, stubble rasping faintly. “Mm. Very interesting.” Warm breath fanned his cheek. “Then what?”

“Your other hand was...holding me.” Oh, and he was impatient for that part.

“Holding you where?”

He huffed out a short laugh, eyes still shut. “You know where.”

Fingertips touched his stomach, below his navel, then trailed gently up, up along his chest and collarbone, stroking up his throat and over his upturned chin. Crowley leaned in and placed his lips against his ear. His tongue flicked out, tasting him, and his breath was hot as he whispered,

“Show me.”

Aziraphale took that hand and slowly guided it in a leisurely path back down his chest, down his stomach, then finally, finally to rest on his fully erect sex **.** The warm fingers carefully wrapped all the way around the shaft, one by one, and he moaned softly.

“Like that?” Crowley’s voice was low and rough.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed. “ _Oh._ Yes. Mmh.” It was even better than the dream, sharper and clearer. He resisted the urge to push himself up against that hand, letting the lovely anticipation sit and build instead. He kept both arms relaxed at his sides – Crowley had him now, and he welcomed anything he might do. There was a kind of beauty in total surrender after so many years of guarding his heart. He kept his eyes firmly shut and savoured the way his other senses seemed to come alive in the dark. Every breath of air was a caress on his bare skin, every touch sharply heightened.

Crowley brushed a light kiss across his lips. “I see. What then?”

He groaned. “You _know_ what.” His leg muscles twitched as he fought to remain still. 

“Demonic powers don’t include mind-reading, angel,” Crowley said quietly, and there was laughter in his voice now. “Tell me.” The last words were a whisper against his cheek.

He whimpered. That warm hand held him carefully, like something precious and fragile, and it was driving him mad. He could feel each and every finger with perfect, exquisite clarity. Desire thrummed through him, converging and throbbing there with a firm, eager pressure, and it cried out for release.

“You were...rubbing me,” he gasped out, barely able to speak past the sheer yearning clogging his throat.

Crowley shifted his fingers, just a little bit. Not nearly enough.

“Like that?”

“ _Nnngh_ , ye- no,” he moaned, and shifted his legs. “ _Yes_.” He couldn’t take it. He didn’t _want_ to thrust into his hand; he wanted Crowley to do it instead, but he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself in another couple of seconds. The demon’s other hand was tight in his hair, his head held firmly back and body arched. His sex was at rigid attention, so hard and stiff it ached, and Crowley’s hand around it might as well have been red-hot. His dream had merged with reality, and it was like nothing he had ever imagined in his waking hours; he was entirely ready, stretched tight as a bowstring with quivering desire. He squeezed his eyes shut but could still see Crowley there, too, as clearly as he felt him. He burned brightly in the dark of his mind’s eye, dazzling, all fire and passion and vibrant life, and God but he needed him to move his hand _now._

He made a small noise of desperation.

“Okay, my angel. Alright,” Crowley soothed. There was a slight twist of power, and Crowley’s hand was suddenly wet and slick. Without further ado he tightened his grip and finally, finally pulled upwards, and Aziraphale gasped open-mouthed in pure ecstatic relief. His back arched involuntarily, but otherwise he tried to stay as still as possible. Crowley sighed, the sound deep and full of satisfaction, and kept a firm grip on his hair. He kept moving his other hand, pulling steadily up and stroking down, rubbing his palm over the tip, teasing him with his fingers, and the entire universe narrowed to that lovely hand. Each patient motion sent a wave of glorious pleasure surging from his sex up through his chest, to burst out of him in a soft gasp.

Crowley bent and traced his tongue up the very centre of his throat to the tip of his chin, then tenderly pressed their parted lips together. He kissed him for what felt like eternity, capturing each gasp and sigh as it escaped, occasionally sighing gently back and sliding his tongue into his mouth. He kissed him as if trying to devour the sounds he was making. He paused, lips just barely touching. “Anything else?” A throaty murmur.

“You had your wings out,” Aziraphale whispered breathlessly. He opened his eyes now, wanting to see.

Crowley closed his own eyes, exhaling, and his silhouette seemed to expand. Sable wings unfolded and spread slowly above him, rising taller than his head and blacker than the shadows, like pieces of starless night. He shifted them forward and down, enclosing them both in ebony curtains and shutting out whatever moonlight had crept into the room. The world turned inky black as total dark enfolded them both like a warm blanket. Crowley stroked him slowly in that velvety darkness, mouth hot on his throat, and all was beautifully quiet save for his own soft, rhythmic gasping.

Reality blurred, time ran like watercolor. Aziraphale lost himself in the silent brush of feathers, of warm dreamlike pleasure. He was suspended in the hushed, unbroken darkness, and nothing else existed in all the world except for his lover’s hands in his hair and on his sex, his warm tongue gliding down his neck. He lay caught in the place between dreams and waking, and in that lovely Nowhere Crowley pleasured him slowly and carefully.

He forced his heavy eyelids open again to look up at him. Crowley’s golden eyes blazed, visible even in the complete dark, and he was suddenly uncertain that he had woken at all.

Those intent eyes drew closer and blinked down at him, a flicker of flame in the black. His hand slid up, and down, constant, wonderful. 

“Is that good? Was it like this?” Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper in his ear, as if he was loathe to break the silence. He trailed one long finger from the base of the shaft up to the tip, resting it there for an excruciating moment before taking hold of him and stroking again.

“Yes… _yes.._.please, yes…” It was so many, many times better than the dream. The pleasure kept intensifying, heightening again and again until he was almost floating. He was enveloped in him, in his warmth and scent and loving attention, and only Crowley’s strong, feverish hands kept him anchored safe to the bed. 

Aziraphale lifted one lead-heavy arm and reached up to touch his face. “You’re going to make me come,” he whispered.

He could feel it. The slow, warm pulse of that hand had him pressed to his very limit of self-control; he was whimpering softly with each stroke, holding back as hard as he could simply because he did not want this to end. But Crowley’s hand was insistent, and he knew how to touch him. Even now that thumb was circling gently at the tip in the way he just couldn’t resist. He was approaching the peak of his dream, the perfect climax that had been so abruptly denied to him. His body wanted it, badly. It would only take a few more strokes and he would be there, willpower or no.

“Yes, my angel,” Crowley murmured. It was no louder than a sigh. “Yes, I am.” He kissed his ear, then licked him from his chest all the way up to his mouth. His tongue was hot and wet on his skin. His breath was heavy, barely controlled, but his voice was tender. “Do you want it slow? Or would you like me to insist right now?”

Aziraphale made a breathless, incoherent sound of solid lust, eyes clenched shut. He wanted him to go slow. He wanted him to insist. He wanted to hold back as hard as he could while his husband forced him gasping over the edge, and he wanted all of those things at once.

“Oh, you beautiful thing,” Crowley breathed, and it was almost a groan. He paused his steady rubbing to caress a hand down his chest, slowly, the motion reverent as a prayer. Aziraphale arched up to receive it, desperate for his hands. Crowley stroked him again, sighing, and there was more raw poetry in that touch than any sonnet ever written.

“My beautiful, beautiful angel,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I’m going to make you come right now.” He wrapped his fingers back around him and began to pump faster, doubling the pleasure arcing through him.

“Oh, yes yes yes, oh _yes_. _Oh_...” He was arching his back so hard that Crowley’s hand in his hair was no longer pulling. His resolve was fracturing; he was going to burst, he was so hard. He tilted his hips up, just a little; he couldn’t help himself. It felt so good that he did it again, groaning softly. “ _Oh…Oh my God…”_ God, he needed to come. He must not come. He was _going_ to come. He held on, shaking, glorying in the pure, crystalline inevitability.

Crowley’s hand tightened around his tip, _oh_ , rubbing, pushing him inexorably to the edge...right to the very edge...

...and this time, there was no cold awakening to reality.

He lost control and orgasmed, moaning as the first spasm hit and the rush of release tore through him. He finally gave in to the urge and thrust his hips, hard, as all that decadent pleasure surged out of him in ecstatic spurts. “ _Yes…yes…yes…”_ He was gasping, throbbing, finally coming in Crowley’s wet, fever-warm hand, and spots of brilliant color whirled and flashed before his eyes in the perfect dark.

“Yeah, just like that,” Crowley breathed against his mouth. He relaxed his fingers in his hair and cradled the back of his head, holding him steady as he shuddered. “Mmmh. Fuck, that’s gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous.” He kept stroking him gently up and down with those lovely long fingers, moving with each thrust, extending the pleasure as long as he could. He ran his parted lips up the side of his neck, and Aziraphale could feel him trembling.

As the final burst of ecstasy faded, so too did the last bit of tension in his body, leaving him almost impossibly sleepy. He let himself sink back into the bed with a deep sigh and just lay there, enjoying the perfect euphoria as the world faded away.

He distantly felt Crowley sit up next to him. Lean arms slid under his back, surprisingly strong, lifting him up and pulling him close. The demon held him tight against his burning chest and buried his face in his shoulder, and Azirpahale put an arm around his neck in turn. He drifted, eyes closed, wrapped in the protective cocoon of his midnight wings and breathing the wild-familiar scent of him. Listening to the pounding music of his heart, the perfect counterpoint to his own. That simple, wondrous refrain echoed against his ear, whispering: _alive, alive, alive…_

After an indeterminable time Crowley kissed his hair and laid him gently back down, sliding a pillow under his head **.** Moments later a soft cloth touched his face, running briefly along his temples and wiping away the sweat, then moved to brush at his stomach and chest. Aziraphale wondered vaguely why he didn’t simply magic away the mess, but said nothing. There was something lovely and intimate about his hands doing this small task instead. Once finished, those wonderful hands drew the blankets up over his sated body, letting the soft fabric settle over his naked skin with another shiver of sensation.

He sighed again, and finally opened his eyes. The room seemed almost pale silver now, compared to the total black of before.

Crowley bent close and laid the back of his fingers against his cheek. “So, how did I measure up?” He still spoke quietly, and was near enough to see his smile. Those dark wings still extended behind him, shifting black shadows hanging above their heads.

“You are more wonderful than any dream could possibly be,” Aziraphale mumbled. The pillow was soft against his head. His arms and legs were impossibly heavy, and it was a struggle to keep his eyes open. “I love you.” There had to be something more, some larger word that would express his adoration for this man. He racked his sleepy mind, but in the end he simply reached up to him, and Crowley took his hand and held it against his cheek. Sometimes a gesture said what words could not.

As he drifted off, smiling, a thought crashed in on him, and he blinked frantically, trying to rouse himself. “But wait, what about you, darling, don’t you want me to...”

”Shh. Go to sleep, my angel.” A warm hand briefly covered his eyes before sliding back to stroke his hair. The world drew further away again as a fresh wave of contentment rippled through his body. Crowley gazed down at him, and the gold eyes gleamed soft in the moonlight. “If you wake up again, I’ll be here.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Illustration by [@thistle_arts](https://www.instagram.com/thistle_arts) on IG
> 
> This is my companion Ineffable Husbands PWP account, so check out my other works here for more of the same.
> 
> Also: I now have an Instagram where I will be compiling all the art I commission for my fics! Also will have new fic announcements, etc. Will include some NSFW art, so if you are 18+ and want to follow, come find me on IG @IneffablePenguin


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